mistermavin96

Life. Death. Both intertwining, yet weaving an intricate and complex paradoxical gap betwixt. Like string of a rope, they wrap around each other, but are separate from themselves. What truly is death, and how can we honestly live. Is life that which we grow up believing; a wondrous joy-filled ride where we can do what we wish and what we desire, or is it as many grow to see it; a wicked roller-coaster of emotional, physical, and mental pain that only seeks to tear you down and see you despair? Is someone who lives who is truly miserable honestly living, or are they as hollow as their routine? Of death, when is someone truly dead? Of physical

As I lay in my watery home, I feel a movement, I hear groans. Moving, moving, and always moving. As the pushes bring me to light, A grinning mother is in sight. Hearing her sing, oh, so soothing. As I push, one thing I know, Not of my joy, or of my woe. Affliction, affliction, and only affliction. My child, our child, now is here! Sorrow banished, welcomed cheer. Singing songs of much joy, singing songs of fiction. I look around, one figure I see. I expected two, where is he? Looking, looking, I am looking. I cry for him, I want him now. He must be here, somewhere, somehow! The mother speaks, why is she not searching? My chi

What is it that makes a man search for companionism? Why is man so incapable of solitude? Is it a weakness, that man must be accompanied in order to keep sane? It truely is facinating that man can surive freezing temperatures, boiling hot climates, high-pressure locations, and the air-deprived heights of the mountains, but isolate him, and he starts to slowly break down. It also intrigues to note how the common person takes for granted such a thing as idle chatter, mistaking such a neccesity for luxury. Many times, you ask someone what they need to live, they shall say "Food", "Shelter", or "water". Very few shall admit "companionship" into t

Let me preface this with a riddle. What is more common than dirt, yet more valuable than gold. Every man has it, and yet it is invaluable. Men don't treasure it, until it's nearly gone. The answer is "time". Every man has time, every man uses time, and every man, at some point, even wastes time. Time never stops, never slows, never waits. It's constantly ticking forward. Time that has been lost cannot be regained, and is gone for eternaty. How is it, that time is thrown away and wasted, yet once it's limit is known, man suddenly cares for time. Seconds, Minutes, Hours, Days, Weeks, Months, Years, Decades, centuries, millenia. No matter how yo